


A Lot About Livin'

by skarlatha



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bossy Bottom!Daryl, Canon Universe, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, Let's Not Kid Ourselves Guys This is Porn, M/M, On Laundry Day Rick Wears Call of Duty Boxers, Rick is a Tease, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Georgia gets hot in the summer, and Rick and Daryl stop at a boat dock for a quick swim before going back to the prison. Because skinny dipping alone with a man you’ve been secretly lusting after for months is a <i>fantastic</i> idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot About Livin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TWDObsessive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/gifts).



> This one's for TWDObsessive, who was having a rough night last night so I thought maybe some gratuitous PWP would help lift her spirits. Only in fandom do friends give each other porn instead of, like, flowers or balloons or something. I like that about fandom. So enjoy, my dear. Enjoy your gay sex gift. 
> 
> Believe it or not, this fic started life as a sexless flashback scene for Shadows Where I Stand, but Michelle_A_Emerlind arched her eyebrow at me and said, “Um, no. If this had really happened, there’s no way they wouldn’t have boned.” So I took it out of that story and added in some sexytimes to make it a stand-alone fic.
> 
> This one's unbeta-ed, so if there are errors please don't blame Michelle this time :)

Rick tugs his shirt over his head and shucks his jeans, thankful that laundry day had forced him to wear dark-colored boxers this morning instead of the tighter briefs he was usually rationed. Normally he wouldn’t have done this. Normally he would have headed straight back from the run, dropping off the supplies and finding something else that needed to be done. But Daryl had pointed out the sign indicating a boat ramp and Rick had found himself turning the car down the road before the other man even suggested it.

After all, it’s a hot day, and none of the supplies they’re bringing back are critical, and it had just seemed like a good idea to spend a little time relaxing for once instead of endlessly rushing around in a world that was both busier and quieter than the old one had been.

Daryl sits down on the concrete ramp leading down into the water and takes off his shoes, wiggling his toes once they’re free. He puts his crossbow down beside him within easy reach and sits with his knees pulled up and his arms crossed on top of them.

“You’re not getting in?” Rick asks him. He tosses his shirt at the other man playfully, giving him a smile.

“Nah,” Daryl says, catching the shirt easily and letting it dangle from his fingers as he returns his arms to his knees.

“Why not?” Rick asks, walking down to the water line and wading in, hissing slightly as the cold river water hits his skin.

“Ain’t got the clothes for it,” Daryl mutters. “Don’t matter though. It’s nice just sittin’ here. Cooler in the shade by the water, at least.”

“Come on, get in,” Rick says. He wades deeper, not stopping until he’s waist-deep in the muddy water. He turns around to look back toward the boat ramp.

Daryl scoffs. “You’re jus’ like the women, always tryin’ to get my shirt off.” He shoots Rick a smirk and Rick curls his toes in the mud at the bottom of the river.

“You look hot,” Rick says, crossing his arms and giving Daryl his best stern-leader look. “You’re sweating like a lumberjack in a forest fire and maybe I don’t wanna have to smell you all the way home. Get in the water.”

Daryl rolls his eyes and stands up. “Ain’t convinced that smellin’ like fish piss is an improvement, but whatever you say.” He grabs the hem of his shirt in his fingers and hesitates, looking down at his hands, his shoulders rising and falling incredibly evenly, in a way that no one actually breathes unless they’re doing it intentionally.

“I’ve seen ‘em,” Rick says, his voice only as loud as it has to be for the words to reach Daryl’s ears. “I ain’t gonna say anything about it.”

Daryl’s eyes shoot up to meet Rick’s own and hold there for a second before the archer nods briskly and yanks his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the ground like it’s offended him. He stands there awkwardly, eyes locked on the concrete, and Rick aches for him, for what he’d been through, but he knows Daryl doesn’t like talking about it and maybe never will, and that’s okay.

“Pants too,” Rick teases, going for a lighter tone to keep the mood from going south. “Nothing worse than wearing wet denim. Chafes something awful.”

Daryl flushes a little, hand straying to the button of his jeans but not moving to take them off. “Uh… laundry day.”

Rick raises an eyebrow. “I know. You don’t think I _usually_ wear Call of Duty boxers, do you?”

“Hate boxers,” Daryl mutters. “Always gettin’ bunched up. Won’t wear ‘em.”

Rick watches him for a couple of seconds before he understands. Daryl is staring down at his feet, still flushed, still awkward, and after a moment Rick drops down into the water and shimmies out of his boxers. The water is muddy enough to obscure the view of his groin unless he _really_ concentrates on picking out the shape from the depths, and Rick wads up the boxers and hurls them at Daryl, hitting him square in the chest with the ball of soaked fabric.

Daryl’s mouth drops open in shock and he looks out at Rick, who is giving him the most challenging look he can muster. “A’ight,” Daryl drawls, his voice going even lower and more country than usual. “Turn aroun’ then. Give a man some dignity, ya pushy bastard.”

Rick rolls his eyes again but turns around, and after a few seconds he hears the hiss of denim falling to the pavement, followed by… nothing. He sighs. “Come on, Daryl, get in the w--”

Arms wrap around his neck in a loose vice and Rick hears _gotcha_ , the word low and hot against his ear, and then he’s yanked down, his head falling under the surface of the water before he can struggle out of Daryl’s grip. The other man’s hands release him and Rick flails his own underwater, his hand brushing against Daryl’s rough leg while he rights himself. He comes up sputtering, furious-but-happy, and looks around for Daryl, who’s a few feet away, sunk down in the water so that only his twinkling eyes are above the surface.

“Jackass,” Rick grumbles, still spitting river water out of his mouth.

Daryl lets his mouth break the surface. “Teach you to turn your back on me.” He grins at Rick, a full, real grin, and they just look at each other for several seconds before Rick lunges at him, dragging him down and giving him an underwater noogie, and so much for relaxing in the cool river but it occurs to Rick as they break the surface together and Daryl reaches up to grind a handful of mud into Rick’s hair that he can’t remember the last time he’s been this happy.

Daryl’s skin is cool and slick under Rick’s hands as he grabs for the hunter, closing his fingers around Daryl’s wrists and yanking the other man up against him with every intention to wrestle him under the water in revenge. But as their chests collide and Rick wraps his arms around Daryl to try and tackle him properly, he feels it. Daryl’s cock. Hard as steel, pressing into Rick’s stomach like it wants to burrow inside him.

Rick lets go like Daryl’s skin is on fire and lets the river wash him a few feet away before planting his feet again in the soft mud of the riverbed. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to--”

Daryl scoffs. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. It happens.”

Rick watches him for a few seconds. He could say something, make this awkward, or he could _not_ say something and make it even more awkward, or he could just go back to water-fighting like it didn’t even happen and then they’d be having fun again. And he knows from plenty of locker rooms and communal showers that calling attention to another man’s boner is completely off-limits, so instead he just grins and lunges at Daryl, pulling him underwater. Daryl latches on to him and barrel-rolls them, then shoves Rick’s head back under when they break the surface, and after that it’s back to water-wrestling and splashing and idle threats and Rick basking in the glow of spending a carefree afternoon with a good friend.

After a while they break apart, breathing heavily, and Rick floats away and then stands up, the water lapping at the center of his torso. Daryl sinks low in the water until only his head is above it again, and their eyes lock across the rushing water--Rick’s eyes blue and bright like a summer morning, Daryl’s dilated and almost black. Rick turns away from Daryl and stretches luxuriously, raising his arms over his head and arching his back, and he swears he can hear a muffled _fucking shit_ from behind him. Rick turns around and Daryl is gone.

Which means he must be underwater by choice, because if anything had happened to him--a submerged Walker or an alligator or a snakebite--then Rick would have heard him thrashing around before going under. Rick’s heart rate spikes and he peers into the water, taking deep breaths in preparation for being pulled under again.

Then Daryl’s arm loops around Rick’s waist, but instead of pulling him down, the archer just tugs him close and breaks the surface of the water, slinging his other arm around Rick’s neck. Rick’s body goes rigid in Daryl’s hold and slowly, some of the puzzle pieces that he’s been rattling around in his brain for months now start to slide into place.

“How long we gonna play this game, huh?” Daryl growls into Rick’s ear, sending shivers through him that have nothing to do with the cool river water.

“Daryl?” Rick asks, his breath hitching in his throat. “What game?”

“You know.” Daryl tightens the arm he has around Rick’s neck and presses his chest against Rick’s back. “How long you gonna make me wait for it?”

Rick lets out a jagged breath and almost moans, but it’s important to be crystal clear about what’s going on, so he swallows hard and asks, “Wait for what?”

Daryl snorts and licks a stripe up the side of Rick’s neck. “For your dick.” He makes it up to Rick’s ear again and bites gently on his earlobe, tugging it between his teeth.

Well. _That’s pretty clear_ , Rick thinks, so he relaxes in Daryl’s arms, arching his neck backward to give the hunter better access. “Didn’t know you wanted it,” he manages to say as Daryl drags his lips down and starts licking and sucking at his shoulder.

Daryl pulls him closer and presses his shaft against the curve of Rick’s ass. “Practically gone cross-eyed with all the wantin’ it I’ve been doing lately,” Daryl mutters against Rick’s skin. “An’ this was just the last fuckin’ straw, man.”

Rick feels himself going fully hard and wriggles his ass back against Daryl, letting the sensation of a hard cock digging in to his flesh wash over him like a revelation. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

Daryl grunts and slides his hand down Rick’s abs to wrap around his dick. “Don’t want your damn excuses. Just want your cock in me. You fuck me good enough an’ maybe I’ll forgive you.”

The words go straight to Rick’s cock, where Daryl squeezes them and starts stroking as he moves his lips back to Rick’s neck, licking at Rick’s pounding pulse. Rick moans and starts rocking his hips, forward into Daryl’s hand and backward against Daryl’s cock, and suddenly Rick’s surprised that the river water isn’t just evaporating off his skin like the sidewalk on a hot summer day.

“If you want me to fuck you,” Rick gasps out as he feels Daryl’s breath ghost over his ear again, “you gotta stop.”

Daryl lets go of him instantly, and Rick’s body immediately starts screaming to get him back. “Go lay down on the pier. Be right behind you.”

Rick turns around to face Daryl, then reaches out and yanks the man over to him. “Just a second,” he says, and he leans in and kisses him hard. Daryl responds immediately, opening his mouth to let Rick in, and it’s nothing like what a first kiss should be. It’s too hard, too rough, with no pretty hesitation or shivers of nerves, and Rick groans and thinks that if he could pick one moment of his life to live in for the rest of eternity, it would be this one.

“Jesus, Daryl,” Rick says between kisses. “I love you so fucking much.”

Daryl grinds his hips forward so that their cocks slide together. “I love you too,” he growls. “But that ain’t what this is about. Not today.”

Rick moves his hands down to cup Daryl’s ass and dips his head to kiss the archer’s throat. “What’s today about?”

“‘Bout you fucking me so hard I feel every bump in the road on the way home,” Daryl says, his voice at the lowest register Rick’s ever heard out of his throat. “‘Bout seein’ what your face looks like when you’re shooting off inside me. Wanna feel you deep, deepest anybody’s ever been.” He reaches down between them, gives Rick another stroke. “Won’t be difficult, not with a fine-ass cock like that.”

Rick moans and shoves Daryl away, then starts splashing for the shore. He makes a beeline for the wooden pier and stretches out on the sun-warmed wood, watching as Daryl walks over and picks up his crossbow, then fishes around in the pockets of his jeans for a bottle of what can only be lube.

When Daryl gets over to the pier, Rick laughs softly. “You brought lube on a run?”

Daryl puts the crossbow down by Rick’s head and pours lube on his own fingers. “Been bringing lube with me every time I’ve been alone with you for fuckin’ weeks, man. Months. Hopin’ you’d get your head out of your ass and take me.” He adjusts his stance and shoves a slick finger inside himself, throwing his head back and gasping. Rick watches the sunlight glisten on Daryl’s river-damp throat and whimpers, his cock twitching at the thought of this man opening himself up for him, right here in broad daylight.

And Daryl gives him quite a show, letting out little moans and whimpers as his fingers work, as he adds a second finger and then a third, as the muscles in his thighs start to shake with the effort. Finally, he looks down at Rick and straddles him, lowering himself slowly to his knees and hovering over Rick’s cock. He leans down and kisses Rick, slower this time but still deep, still full of fire and energy and want, and then moves into position and grips Rick’s cock as he slides himself down on it.

Rick groans and grabs Daryl’s hips, trying to thrust up farther into the tight, slick heat of Daryl’s body, but Daryl smacks him on the chest. “Lay still,” the hunter growls. “Just lay there and watch me jerk off while I fuck myself on you.”

A loud, strangled moan escapes Rick’s lips at the words and he wonders briefly if he should protest being used like a dildo and not allowed to touch otherwise, but then Daryl starts to move and the part of Rick’s brain that gives a shit about anything other than sheer desire shorts out.

Daryl is beautiful like this, sexy and confident, and he gets his entire body into the motion of pleasuring himself on Rick’s cock. Rick is fascinated by it, by the rippling of muscles under his skin as he uses his legs to lift himself on and off, as he rolls his hips to get each downstroke at just the right angle, as his arms work while he uses both hands to expertly stroke his own cock.

“This gonna be a one-time thing, Rick?” Daryl asks, breathing hard and slamming himself down on Rick with enough force to make them both groan.

“Hell no,” Rick says once the sparkles fade from his vision. He lifts his hands to grab Daryl’s hips again and Daryl lets him this time.

“Good.” Daryl tightens himself around Rick, forcing a strangled whimper from his throat. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me from now on.”

Rick’s eyes roll back in his head a little as Daryl speeds up, riding him like it’s the goddamn Belmont Stakes and he’s going for the Triple Crown. “Gonna… gonna fuck you every single night. Gonna tie you down and fuck you until you scream.”

Daryl moans and throws his head back while he rides. “People will hear.”

“Let ‘em,” Rick says. “Oh god, Daryl, faster…”

“Tell me more,” Daryl gasps out. He takes Rick all the way in and then just rolls his hips against him, moving Rick’s cock inside him without pulling it back out.

“Gonna jack you off under the table at dinner,” Rick says, digging his nails into Daryl’s hips. “Watch you try to carry on conversation while my hand’s on your dick.”

“Motherfucker,” Daryl moans. “God yeah, Rick. Keep going.”

Rick’s hips buck upward without his permission and Daryl’s whole body shakes with whatever it is he hits. “Gonna--”

“Goddammit,” Daryl snaps, his jaw clamping tight as he looks off into the distance. “Motherfuckin’ cockblocking asshole douche,” he mutters, and Rick tries to twist his neck around to assess the situation but Daryl smacks him again. “Ignore it. It’s just one. Ain’t gonna let one goddamn Walker ruin my first fuck with you.” He starts rolling his hips again, leaning back to reach behind himself and squeeze Rick’s balls gently, and Rick arches under him and moans, his eyes sliding shut for a few seconds.

He hears the familiar metallic clicking and opens his eyes to see Daryl holding the crossbow, the butt of it against his shoulder, and _holy shit_ he’s still moving on Rick, still fucking himself on the ex-deputy’s cock while he takes aim and fires at the lone Walker.

“Gotcha, you asshole,” Daryl mutters, then drops the crossbow back beside Rick and doubles down, speeding up his movements and biting at his bottom lip as whimpers spill from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Rick breathes, “that was _so fucking hot_.”

Daryl laughs breathlessly, then pulls off of Rick altogether and rolls over onto his back. “Come fuck me then,” he murmurs, and Rick is back between his legs and pushing in before he even knows what’s happening.

From then, there’s no grace or rhythm to it, just frantic fucking as Rick pounds relentlessly into Daryl and Daryl meets every thrust with a rock of his own hips and a gasp of Rick’s name.

“Gonna come in you,” Rick grinds out between his teeth. “Gonna fill you up with it. You’re _mine_.”

“Do it, then,” Daryl says, arching his back up from the wooden pier and whimpering. “Make me feel it dripping out of me the whole ride home. ‘M yours.”

Rick slams in one more time, hips stuttering against Daryl as he unloads deep inside him, crying out in victory and listening dimly to the sounds of his own voice echoing over the water. He’s practically sobbing with the force of the release, with the broken tension and the way Daryl has given himself over to this, to _him_. It’s fucking perfect and he takes a deep, steadying breath and kisses Daryl with passion and urgency and all the love in his heart.

Daryl kisses him back, then tries to reach between their still-joined bodies.

“Fuck, sorry,” Rick says. He leans up and bats Daryl’s hand away, wrapping his own hand around Daryl’s straining dick and stroking it, slowly at first but increasing his speed as Daryl’s breath starts to hitch. “Come for me, baby. Let me see you come with my cock in your ass.”

“Jesus Christ, _Rick_ ,” Daryl gasps, then his whole body jerks and he yells Rick’s name again as he comes, the hot liquid painting stripes of white on Rick’s chest and oozing through Rick’s fingers, and if Rick had been a teenager again he would have snapped back to attention and started fucking Daryl again without even pulling out from the last time.

But they’re not teenagers, so instead Rick reaches up and smears Daryl’s come all over the hunter’s lips, then leans down and kisses it off of them.

Daryl chuckles into the kiss, his body gradually relaxing under Rick’s. “You’re a dirty little fucker, man. Never would’ve guessed.”

“ _I’m_ a dirty fucker?” Rick asks, feigning offense. “Which one of us used the other one like a goddamn sex toy and demanded dirty talk?”

“Which one of us got off on watching the other one shoot a Walker in the head during sex?”

Rick smiles and pulls out carefully, rolling over to lie on his back beside Daryl. “Good point. I guess you win.”

“I always win, Rick. You ain’t figured that out yet?” Rick turns his head to meet Daryl’s gaze and they both grin at each other while their breathing goes back to normal.

“So,” Rick says. “Can it be about how I love you now?”

Daryl grunts and rolls his head back to face directly up into the sky. He closes his eyes. “Sure, for a few minutes until I can get it up again.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in another smile and Rick sighs happily.

Rick scoots over and curls up next to Daryl, lying his head on the archer’s chest. “I love you, Daryl.”

“Mmm,” Daryl rumbles, then kisses the top of Rick’s head. “Love you too, ya fuckin’ tease.”

Rick laughs, and Daryl joins in, and for just a moment in the middle of the end of the world, the bank of a Georgia river feels just about like paradise.


End file.
